


Deluxe

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Exhibitionism, Lingerie, Nonbinary Character, Other, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:36:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3146078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bashir tries on Garak’s latest creation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deluxe

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for 1billsookie and whitewolf’s male!Garak leaving feminine clothing/gifts around nonbinary!Julian’s quarter’s request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/). Special thanks to my darling abbeyjewel for betaing!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s been a long day, but it always is now that the Dominion’s on the horizon. Whatever joy Julian used to find in their job is long since out the airlock—that early spark of frontier-medicine excitement seems foolish in retrospect. The infirmary can still be intellectually stimulating at times, but mostly it’s one horror story after another, soaked in a fine mist of fear and suspicion. It’s a relief to come home, even if Julian’s quarters will never be as comfortable as a Terran-built station.

They’ve grown used to the way the door slips aside. The dark, harsh, clean lines of the interior and the coloured Cardassian lighting have become just another part of Julian’s everyday life. The illumination lifts under their steps, revealing their open living space with two couches and a desk.

The floor draws their notice instantly; it wasn’t like that this morning.

A thin trail of petals weaves its way from the entrance to the bedroom, curving elegantly around the furniture and slipping below the door. A fond smirk twists its way onto Julian’s lips; those petals are unmistakable, and there’s only one person on this station skilled enough to grow healthy Endosian orchids. The plump arcs and lustrous colours of these remnants would give even Keiko O’Brien a run for her money. This unusual courting dance is growing ever more interesting, and Julian picks their way around the trail, careful not to trample the valuable fauna below. Even plucked, the chemicals in those petals are worth a fair bit of scientific research.

And Garak would know that, too.

Julian’s disappointed when the bedroom door slides open to reveal no new life. They half expected, or perhaps simply hoped, to find a handsome Cardassian spread out on the sheets, wearing little more than an inviting grin. Their courtship hasn’t reached quite that far yet, but if Garak is half so intelligent as he thinks, he’ll pick up on Julian’s intricate signals one way or another, and he’ll offer up his sensual body instead of flowers.

There is a box on the bed that wasn’t there before, sitting freshly at the foot in a nest of more petals. Julian strolls towards it with darting eyes roving the room; if there is no Garak, there must, at least, be some form of observation. A microphone, perhaps, or a PADD half-hidden. Garak would never go so far as to bug Julian’s room without leaving evidence: some clue for Julian to detangle. They aren’t, therefore, particularly surprised to find a tiny little camera wedged between two of the datachip boxes on their shelf. About waist-height, it eyes the bed, the bulbous lens glinting in the light, now that Julian’s seen it. They don’t linger on it, giving no clue that it’s been found, but Julian doesn’t go to turn it off, either.

Instead, Julian steps forward and bends to brush the petals off the duvet. They flutter weightlessly to the floor, piling up with the others. When just the box is left, Julian removes the generic metal lid.

A neat bundle of blue-green fabric lies inside. It matches the collar of Julian’s uniform, though they doubt this will have anything to do with Starfleet. Knowing Garak’s tastes and skills, this will be something far more... _intimate_.

As Julian slowly lifts the material from the box, they realize just how true that statement is. The fabric is sheer, translucent and nearly transparent, except for the ribbons that stripe down the front and around the tops and bottoms of all the pieces. The first to come is a lacey slip with a loose corset front, and ribbons falling down the sides, probably to attach to the garter belts. Julian carefully plucks out the rest: panties and stockings. The collection is easily more feminine than anything in Julian’s current wardrobe, far more delicate and perhaps _prettier,_ and as Julian feels the expensive fabric in their hands, they turn a sultry gaze to the camera, unable to resist purring, “Thank you.” Garak’s made them clothes before, but never quite like this.

And Julian, quite needing a break from the burn of the war, would like more. It’s a solid reminder that beautiful things, worth protecting, still exist in this universe, and clearly they have a suitor that thinks them more than fitting.

Julian lays the clothes back on the bed and gingerly puts the box on the floor, straightening back to full height.

Then they reach for the zipper of their uniform jacket and drag it all the way down their front, tilting forward as they do, hips thrust out behind. It’s a sort of show-girl move meant only for the audience’s benefit, and Julian is slow with every tantalizing bit of caramel skin they show off. It’s almost a shame that these uniforms don’t have the zipper reaching all the way around; it would be nice to simply tug all of this oppressive material open, spring free all at once and slip out into the silky arms of lingerie. Julian won’t need to ask if the design is Garak’s own; of course it will be. It was probably tailored just for Julian’s body, measured and calculated down to the last millimeter.

When the jacket is open, Julian peels it back off their shoulders, letting it slip down their back and crumple on the floor. The coloured turtleneck below, Julian tugs over their head, aware that the thin material just barely has any room to do so. It’s practically painted on, stretched taut over their trim torso, but rides up their stomach nonetheless, revealing symmetrical muscles two at a time. When the shirt’s over their head, Julian lets it join the jacket, then rolls their neck and flexes their shoulders, like breathing in freedom after the restraint of clothes. Even in the cold air of their bedroom, Julian stands straight and tall. There’s something exciting about stripping for a camera: a new game that will hopefully be repeated. Maybe the other way around. Julian’s never seen a Cardassian undress with any flair, but they imagine it would be a pleasant show.

Their pants and underwear go at once, and Julian turns for this, back to the camera, ass pushed back and chest arching forward, thumbs hooking into hems. They push it slowly down their hips, revealing one centimeter of ass at a time, until they’re past the hump of it and pushing down soft thighs with the downy sprinkle of hair and the definition of ill-used but present muscle.

At the bottom, all of Julian’s clothes stay together, and they step out, careful to keep their thigh covering their crotch as they climb onto the edge of the bed where the new clothes lie.

The panties will be the first to go on. Julian angles their legs and body with only a modicum of privacy in mind: if Garak wants to see the contents of Julian’s pants, that’s a privilege that will have to be earned. Besides, Julian has to hold something back, keep one game left, to keep their intended interested; their relationship would be nothing without subterfuge. So Julian plucks up the string-thin sides of the panties, just opaque enough to leave the camera wondering.

Then Julian crawls forward across the bed like a panther creeping into the bush, flattening down along the duvet. Shifting the panties around one hand for the correct position, Julian lifts their ass into the air as they slowly roll onto their back, thigh up just enough to teasingly hide what Garak probably wants to see most. Luxuriously stretched across the covers, Julian bends their other leg enough to step five poised toes into the panties. The other leg lifts to follow, leaving the full curve of their round ass exposed, and Julian arches their chest up again, like some lewd pinup girl giving a peep show in Quark’s bar.

The panties are easy enough to slip on, but Julian squirms into them anyway, writhing uselessly with each little shimmy to bring them further down, farther along Julian’s smooth thighs. Then they push one hand between their legs to cup the bottom piece and slide it into place, fingering the tiny sides up over their hips in the aftermath. Julian takes an extra moment just to appreciate how soft the fabric is, how perfectly it cups their crotch, the lace tickling between their thighs and the thin back riding up between the cheeks of their ass. The ribbon hem that lies flat across their stomach looks like it was tailored with Julian’s exact measurement in mind, and Julian runs their fingers lightly down it, making all their ripe skin tingle in the wake.

They feel _good_. A little too raunchy to wear below a stuffy Starfleet uniform, but the next time there’s a planned replimat date, Julian will risk it all the same. There’s something so deliciously _naughty_ about sensually slipping into undergarments made by Garak just for them, right in front of a semi-hidden camera. Julian relishes the feeling, then reaches for the stockings.

Again, they fit perfectly on Julian’s feet. The sheer fabric slides like butter over Julian’s skin, but they make a show of it anyway, lying back to slowly roll up one centimeter at a time. Once snug around their thighs, the rims of the stockings cut just a tiny bit into their skin, showing off a subtle squeeze, with ribbons that run up to attach to the panties. Julian does them up and rolls around onto their stomach again, legs spreading and curling back. Julian bends their heels almost down to their ass while tugging at the tips of the stockings, making sure it’s perfectly in place. When it’s all settled, they stick one finger into the tip of the panties, running it down the middle of their ass, like checking the alignment. Their cheeks are almost entirely exposed, and Julian lifts onto all fours to pose, holding still for just a moment, to show off the luscious view. They can’t help but feel a little like they’re starring in video pornography, except that Garak will have to pay a higher, premium price if he really wants to see the juiciest content.

For now, Julian reaches back for the final piece. This is the thinnest, lightest of all, ghosting in the breeze when Julian tugs it forward. It’ll barely cover a thing. They slip it over their shoulders all the same, lifting up to kneel on the bed and tug it better in place. Only two thin straps hold it up, and one keeps threatening to topple down Julian’s shoulder. The corset ribbon in the front is loose, the sides hanging limply down Julian’s chest. It fans out around their hips in a frilly rim, just barely obscuring Julian’s navel.

Julian’s nipples, already a little hard and pebbled in the cold, open air, tent the fabric forward. Their dusty rose hue pokes easily through the blue-green covering, and before Julian starts securing the clothing on properly, they grab at the lace hem and pull it taut, pushing their chest forward to show their erect nipples straining through the sheer top. It chafes a little, but it’s worth it to think of Garak’s pleasure at seeing Julian act so wanton. They’re only subtle on the promenade. In closed quarters... Julian can be as whorish and lewd as they like, and they open their mouth to drag a slow, pink tongue around their plush lips: a blatant invitation. Gifts like this are _well_ received.

When Julian’s lips are wet and ripe, they pull back and sit down, legs spreading right for the camera, their panties center stage. Julian starts on the ribbon crisscrossing up their chest, tugging it ever tighter to pull the fabric taught. It takes a few lingering moments that Julian spends half calculating the experiments he’ll use those petals for and half imagining riding a thick Cardassian cock, right in the middle of Garak’s sham of a tailor shop.

Once the cover is tight, there’s nothing more for Julian to do. The present is on, and they simply run their palms gradually down their body, smoothing out all the wrinkles. At their crotch, Julian dips one hand inside the panties, the other lifting so they can bite their nail. Julian massages themself once, twice, and stops, knowing this will be an orgasm to remember.

But Garak hasn’t yet bought a ticket to that, so Julian slides off the bed and pads over to the camera.

They find a way to disconnect it with ease. Then they tuck it away, making a mental note to return the favour sometime. Julian may not be able to tailor fancy clothes for Garak to try on, but they can think of a number of medical instruments they’d like to use for nefarious purposes on Garak’s handsome body.

In the meantime, Julian strays back to the bed with swinging hips, ready to put their new outfit to use.


End file.
